Blur Shoots For Sharp Image In Straightforward Show

It's my aim this year, if only for my own peace of mind, to untangle the unending flow of young new bands, mosty from England, who all seem to have one-syllable names:

Curve. Ride. Lush. Live. Rush. (OK, skip that last one).

Blur made its bid to stand out from the bunch in its debut at Toad's Place in New Haven, before an enthusiastic all-ages crowd who prided themselves on being hip -- wearing black and chain-smoking clove cigarettes.

Formed just three Easters ago in London, Blur is a sensation in England, although the band members could have walked unmolested by fans into the over-21 game room at Toad's to get a drink (but security certainly would have apprehended them: They don't look old enough to get in).

Like many other bands in its class, the Blur members try to remain anonymous by not picturing themselves on the album cover (instead, there's a smiling, unnamed '50s model in a flowered swimming cap). Blur doesn't even list the band members on its disc.

It's a relief that the group doesn't further obscure itself on stage, where it easily could have lived up to its name by submerging itself in the usual British array of smoke machines.

Instead, Blur was refreshingly straightforward in presentation; the musicians wore just T-shirts and jeans, with no smoke machine and smaller amps than the unfortunate local band that opened the show.

Musically, like many of its brother bands, Blur conjures up pure pop sensibilities from beneath thickly textured guitars and a throbbing beat.

It's just the sort of modern, hard-edged, jagged-guitar approach U2 attempts on its new album. You get the feeling it came to bands like Blur a little more naturally.

With guitarist Graham Coxon and bassist Alex James mostly minding the music, the band's focal point is front man Damon Albarn, who sometimes stands still when he sings his simple, somewhat obscure lyrics but more often jumps unpredictably. At one moment he's got one arm folded over, pulling the back of his neck, jumping like a self-jerked marionette. Another time he jolts around and smashes his microphone on drummer Dave Rowntree's cymbals.

Whatever he's doing, it seems spontaneous, not practiced or mannered by any means.

Albarn, whose father was the first manager of the Soft Machine, seems to have a natural inclination to psychedelia in his songwriting and singing.

The terse, 40-minute set began quite literally with a "Bang" -- an arresting track from Blur's debut "Leisure" album -- and included the irresistible singles "She's So High" and "There's No Other Way." The band also included some new material, such as its current British single "Pop Scene," which was part of the four-song encore.

Although I've always suspected that encores were mandatory parts of rock shows, it was proved Tuesday when the band returned to the stage as if by habit, despite a singular lack of vociferous acclaim from the crowd. Everybody, it seemed was just expecting the extra songs and dispensed with the conventional clapping charade.

For the encore, Albarn spoke his first patter: "We're from London, England," he said. "And you're not."

It ended rather rudely, with Albarn storming off stage before the final song was concluded and Rowntree firing a drumstick at the crowd as less of a fond souvenir than a weapon, advancing in its own acrimonious blur